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Invalid .  That's not the word Mrs. June Sylvester would use to describe the resignation with which her body stuffed through its eighties, but she could see it in the eyes of everyone who came around - for a visit, to pray with her, to help out, even those who came to talk over a cup of coffee.  She had now gotten used to the way their eyes carried her to a graveyard that was not yet her own - the way their smiles said, “ in loving memory ”. A memory. That was what had become of her.  Lord Please. Just once. She wanted to live one more day as she used to. She missed being a vibrant young woman, daring and rebellious. She had so much to share, stories to tell, but no children to listen. All her children had scattered across various continents, and although they phoned her often, it was never the same as being with them.  Her first son, Richard, had hired her a private nurse, but it had only made her feel worse - or better put, it had made her feel like a fruitless sci...

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Ifemia.

Eyes of the dead.